


"Daddy Draco"

by emansil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Missing Years, Resurrection Stone, mpreg-after the fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 10:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5044903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emansil/pseuds/emansil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four long years ago, Harry disappeared from Draco’s world. Now he is back, and Draco’s world is about to change in a big way. And he couldn’t be happier about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Daddy Draco"

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_adoptaprompt using the following as the prompt:
> 
> Prompt: Due to the residual magic from the resurrection stone that was stored in HP’s body, the one time he bottomed for DM, he ended up pregnant. For some reason DM breaks up with him before he could tell him the news, HP decides to leave wizarding Britain, and head for Wizarding America; where he’s not that well known. 
> 
> Prompt was originally requested at harrydracompreg.
> 
> Thanks to digthewriter, and winnett for betaing and to nenne and candamira for their assistance with toddler speak.

Draco hurried down the hallway. The corridors of St Mungo’s were empty this time of the morning. Only a few of the more dedicated family members had arrived for their daily visits. He’d received an urgent summons for the Weasel. Arthur Weasley was coming around and needed his healer. 

Draco wished he could claim responsibility for the good news. But he hadn’t a clue as to why Mr Weasley was coming out of his coma, now, when nothing else Draco had tried had worked. He was only grateful that he was. Losing his own father a year ago, he knew how painful that loss could be. His own father had been a complete and power hungry arse. Draco had both, loved and hated him, feared and respected him. The Weasleys had nothing but complete love and admiration for their dad.

He turned the corner to the corridor that lead to Mr Weasley’s room and came to a screeching halt. A trim man with thick, wavy dark brown hare squatted in front of the door to Draco’s patient’s room, and he was talking to someone. Draco would recognize that arse anywhere. 

Harry. It had been four years since he’d last seen him. Four years since Draco was overwhelmed by everything and in a complete hissy fit, had told Harry to, “Get the fuck away from me.” 

He hadn’t meant it. He was just angry at his father, stressed from Healer school and terrified of his feelings for Harry. And Harry had consistently nagged and pestered him about how they needed to talk.

Harry however had taken him at his word. He’d stared silently at Draco for a few seconds, as if studying him for future reference. He’d said only, “As you will.” Then, he’d turned and Apparated away. Draco hadn’t seen him since.

Neither, had anyone else, including the best mates. The three of them had each blamed the other, insisting the other knew where he was, and why weren’t they sharing the information with the others. 

Draco was sure they would not tell him because of his last words to Harry. They both claimed they knew nothing about that. Only that Harry had left the house with the words “I’m going to get my answer one way or the other today.” When they arrived home that night, Harry and his belongings were gone. They hadn’t seen him since, nor did they know the question Harry had been looking for the answer to. 

But who was that with Harry? He was squatting down talking to a young child. Draco guessed maybe two or three. He’d always been horrible with ages. The child had white blond hair, that stuck up in every which direction. Thick and wavy it looked like a bird’s nest. The same as his father’s always had.

Draco stood stunned. Where had that come from? _His father._ He couldn’t possibly know that Harry was the child’s father, but he did. There wasn’t a single doubt in Draco’s mind. Harry had apparently moved on. He’d had a child, while Draco had been pinning away waiting for the day when Harry returned. 

Draco could find him, take him in his arms and tell him what a fool he had been, would beg him to come back. Later, after they’d shagged—make up sex being the best, of course—Harry would tell Draco that he forgave him. Life would be full and wonderful again, not dreary with a big space of emptiness which Harry had once filled. 

Too late for that now.

He didn’t wonder how Harry had known to come home, or how they’d found him. In times of true emergency Wizarding Owls can find anyone. That Arthur Weasley was about to die had seemed to have been a predetermination. He was that sick, only somehow he’d now recovered.

Recovered or not, Arthur Weasley was still Draco’s patient and he needed to see him. No time to stand around gawking or strolling down memory lane. Straightening his shoulders, Draco strode down the hallway. 

“Morning Potter, it’s good to see you again. How have you been?” he said curtly. He couldn’t afford anything else.

Harry jerked in place, though he didn’t turn around. But Draco knew he had heard and had known who it was. Instead Harry gave the boy another hug and gently wiped tears from his face. He handed him a handkerchief. “Now blow. There’s a good boy.” Apparently he had been crying, the boy—not Potter. Slowly Harry came to his feet, he turned to face Draco.

“Malfoy,” Harry said “Good to see you. Thank you for taking such good care of Ron’s dad. They’re really grateful to you.”

Draco shrugged. “It was nothing I did. At least I’m not aware of anything I did that would have had that powerful of an effect.” 

“Even so, they are grateful. So am I.”

Draco recalled Harry once telling him that Arthur Weasley had been the one consistent father figure in his life. Everything he hoped to be in a father, he had learned from Arthur Weasley. He wondered if Harry had achieved that goal with his own son. 

The whole time they were talking, the child stared wide-eyed at Draco. The child then reached out and tugged on Harry’s sleeve. “Daddy.”

Harry ignored him, continued looking and talking to Draco. The child kept tugging and saying, “Daddy,” each tug more forceful and each “Daddy” louder than the one before. Finally, Draco couldn’t take it anymore. “Potter would you please answer the boy?” 

Slowly closing then reopening his eyes, still penetrating and heartbreakingly beautiful, Harry sighed. “I don’t want to. I know what he’s going to say and I don’t want to give him the chance.” But he turned toward the child and answered. “Yes, D J.”

“That’s the man in the picture. You know, the one by the side of your bed,” he whispered in a voice loud enough to hear at the other end of the corridor, nodding at Draco. “The one you say good night to every night.”

“Yes, D J, it is.” Harry said, looking as if he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Draco was speechless. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The boy, however was unencumbered by years of memory and regret washing over him. Now, that he knew he was right, he seemed to feel it was okay to talk to Draco. “Hi. What’s your name? My daddy calls me D J but that’s not really my name.”

Draco swallowed down his shock and bent down to the child’s level. “Hello D J my name is Draco, Draco Malfoy.” At these words the boy’s eyes got even bigger and he burst into a face splitting smile. “You know D J it is customary when introducing yourself to someone, you should give your surname as well,” he continued. 

The smile disappeared and D J’s face puckered in a perplexed frown. It was so like Harry’s that Draco almost laughed out loud. Even so, he must have smiled without realising it. The boy drew himself up and frowned at him. “I don’t know what that word means. It’s mean to laugh because I don’t know it.” And Draco was looking at himself, holding his own against Severus Snape when he had questioned him about something he had no way of knowing. He had been about three at that time too. 

“I’m sorry, D J. I wasn’t laughing at you not knowing, it is an unusual word. It’s just that your expression reminded me of someone I once knew and cared a great deal about. Surname, is just a fancy word for last name. What is your last name?” 

The smile returned. “But you already know my--” The child paused, his face puckering again as he tried to remember. He brightened, “You know my surnems. It’s the same as my daddy’s. It’s Potter, Draco James Potter.” 

“Draco? Your name is Draco?” _Why?_ He wondered. It was then he realised that while the thick and wayward locks were Harry’s, as was the smile, the rest of the child, including the pride and the hurt at being laughed at… was Draco. Tall and slender for his age—he _couldn’t_ be more than three--clear grey eyes that looked at him, and supposedly the world, with a serious and intent gaze. Except for now when he wouldn’t stop smiling at Draco. A thin face with sharp nose and chin completed the resemblance. 

Harry stood a few feet away from them alternating between rocking back and forth on his feet and twisting one of his toes until it began to look as if he was attempting to drill a hole in the floor. The door opened and Percy stuck his head out. Harry’s relief would have been funny, if the situation wasn’t so tragic. 

“Oh good, you’re here,” Percy said upon seeing Draco. “Can you come in and check on him? He seems to be doing fine. No complaint of anything, except for some really strange dreams. About having dragon babies, or laying dragon eggs. He wanted to know where we had hid them. We told him there were no dragon babies. He got pretty sad for a while, teared up and everything, and he said something even stranger. ‘Next time. I’ll make it work next time.’ Do you think that means anything?” 

Draco frowned, he’d never heard of such a thing. Must have been some powerful dreams. Still, best to be sure all was okay. “Of course, you’re absolutely right.” Draco hurried into the room. 

The family was pretty much as they’d been when he’d left them the night before. Bill and Fleur held Victoire and the baby in their laps both sound asleep. George and Angelina held on to each other still blissfully happy from their honeymoon. Percy and Hermione both looked prepared to integrate him until he begged for mercy. Pansy held on to Ron’s hand looking up at him with complete adoration-- when she thought no one was looking. Charlie and Viktor were, yet again, snogging in front of everyone. It had been their hand-fasting celebration in Romania that Arthur Weasley had been at when he’d become ill. 

None of those pairing had surprised Draco, once he’d had a chance to get over his initial shock. The one that had, and still continued to baffle him was Ginny and Goyle. Two years they had been together, a mixed marriage if ever there had been one. Yet they each brought out the best in other. There was no accounting for love, he thought.

All scattered about the room in various locations that changed like the Muggle game, Musical Chairs that Harry had once told him about. Those that were too slow were left without chairs and had to make do with a wall or the floor. The only constant was Molly, who held her place on the corner of the bed right next to her husband, never leaving his side except to answer the call of nature. With one hand, she held tightly to Mr Weasley’s hand, and with the other, she wiped at the tears that wouldn’t stop. Even so, she beamed at Draco through the tears. 

As for the patient, they were right. Arthur Weasley was sitting up in the bed, laughing, talking and joking with his family. As usual, they all started talking at once. Over the past five days, Draco had learned how to designate and prioritise the pertinent from the ridiculous. He answered their questions as best he could and accepted their thanks and congratulations with a simple, “Thank you, I only wish I knew what it was that made him better. It would surely help my career to be able to write this up for the Society of Healers Journal, only I don’t know.” 

“In regards to the unusual dreams about dragons and dragon eggs, remember he had been at a large dragon reserve before he got ill. I’m sure seeing that many dragons at one time must have made quite the impression on him. It may have been the last and most persistent memory before he got sick. I’m very glad he is better.” 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have rounds this morning, as well as other patients I need to see. Harry, can I speak with you in the hall? Alone.” Sixteen different pairs of eyes turned on them as Harry nodded, and joined Draco as they walked out the door. 

“I sure would like to have a pair of extendable ears to overhear _that_ conversation,” Draco heard Goyle say as the door shut behind them. 

Draco wasted no time, he spun to face Harry. “What the fuck? You named him Draco, why?” But he already knew why, he just couldn’t believe he hadn’t known. 

“I think that should be clear,” Harry spat back. “Come on, Malfoy, don’t be dense. Don’t ask questions when the answer is obvious. He’s your son.” 

“My son? But how? I mean we never—” He stopped, a vision of Harry spread out in front of him, his legs bent and pulled up to his chest as Draco pounded into him. “Oh yeah.” 

Harry gave a short nod. “Oh yeah is right.”

“But it was only the one time.” A weekend getaway they had taken at a cottage in Wales, a roaring fire with a thick sheepskin rug placed right in front of it, and multiple bottles of Muggle ale. There had been no stress, no pressure, no worries about his father’s mental and physical deterioration as a result of his time in Azkaban. A weekend of pure bliss.

“One time is all it takes,” Harry said softly, then paused. “Especially, when you’ve had contact with a Resurrection Stone.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? You have a Resurrection Stone? As well as an Invisibility Cloak?” The implications of that were overwhelming, but not now. Now there was too much else going on. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“I found lots of information on the after effects of the Resurrection Stone at the little museum in Salem. Seems if you’ve ever brought people back with the aid of the stone, you have a higher than excellent chance of being fertile, very very fertile.” Harry barked a short laugh. “I swear I didn’t know that. If I would, I wouldn’t have…” he left the rest of that sentence unsaid. 

Draco could only stare at him. “Resurrection Stone? Bring back people? You mean like from the dead?”

“It doesn’t matter now. Happened during war, before Voldemort offed me, before King’s Cross, before your mother saved me, it was all part of that whole scene.” Harry’s resistance to talking about things that had happened during the war had been a source of many arguments between them. It didn’t appear to have changed much. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Draco asked.

“About the stone? Or about my condition.” Harry asked for clarification.

At the look Draco gave him, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “I tried. Several times, if you recall. And as I recall, you told me to, ‘get the fuck away from me.’” 

“I didn’t mean it!” Draco snapped. 

“Sounded like you’d meant in to me. You’d been avoiding me like the plague since we’d got back from Wales. You wouldn’t talk to me. Only wanted me to shag you. Like that was all I was good for, that my only purpose was to fuck you against the closest flat surface.” Harry’s voice still held an edge of pain that it had back then, and Draco had paid no attention to it. He’d been such an idiot.

“Do you really have a picture of me by your bed?” he asked changing the subject, not wanting to remember the feel of Harry’s cock in him, how incredible it had felt, completing him, filling him.

Harry looked down at the floor, and returned to drilling that hole in the floor with the toe of his shoe. “Yes.” 

“And you say good night to it?”

“Every night. Now you know my secret. Thank Merlin he doesn’t know about the one under the mattress.” 

“Under the mattress?”

“It’s the one of you at the cottage in Wales.” 

“But that’s the one of me. Oh gods.” In a matter of seconds he went from paler than usual to what he knew was a very warm, almost hot pink. 

The cottage held not only the fire and the rug, but a book about Mordred, that they had enjoyed reading to each other. Harry especially liked the bit about ‘skinning the adder’. Draco had thought it would be funny to demonstrate exactly what ‘skinning the adder’ would look like, especially as it was described in the book. He’d put on an extra-long shirt, one that hung down over his cock. His trousers and pants pooled on the floor by his feet. 

Even now, he felt his skin heat and the blood rush to his cock at the memory of how quickly things had heated up. The intense look of pure lust in Harry’s eyes as Draco lifted the over-long shirt, wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking in from top to bottom and back up again. Harry’s captivated gaze as Draco rubbed the pad of his thumb over the head, gathering the precome. The want and need in Harry’s expression as he’d crawled across the rug to Draco. Harry’s lips on Draco’s thumb taking it into his mouth, licking and sucking it clean. The desire in Harry’s words, “I want you in me. Today, Now. Please, fuck me Draco.” And the trust that Harry had shown him, responding to Draco’s touch, opening up, letting Draco claim him, giving himself fully to Draco. 

It had been the first and only time he had ever been inside of Harry. Draco remembered it as if it was yesterday.

“And what do you do with that picture?” he teased with a smirk.

“What do you think I do with it? Thank Circe for cleaning spells.”

Draco raised one eyebrow. “Indeed.” The two of them smiled at one another, relaxed and at ease. Draco looked down at his watch. He couldn’t stay any longer.

“Listen, Harry. I really do have to go; I wasn’t lying about rounds and other patients. Can I see you again? How long are you going to be here, in England?” He searched Harry’s face for some forecasting of what the answer might be. “I’d like to get to know my son. Maybe let him know, I’m his father.” 

At that moment, the door flew open and D J ran out. “Daddy, are you and Daddy Draco done talking yet? I’m hungry.”

“What!” Harry shouted.

“Why are you calling me that?” Draco gaped in astonishment. Was the boy some sort of psychic? 

“Uncle Ron told Uncle Greg that you were my daddy. I‘ve already got a Daddy, so you can be Daddy Draco.” 

“I guess that answers your questions about seeing me again. The boy is going to need to get to know his Daddy Draco, and I think I’d like to get to know him again as well,” Harry said. 

Draco took Harry’s hand in one hand, and D J’s in the other. Fuck rounds, fuck other patients, he had other plans. “The boy said he was hungry. I could eat, how about you?”

“You know me; I’m always feeling a bit peckish.” 

 

The end


End file.
